Dying Wish
by Ash R
Summary: AU. 5.03/5.04. His dying wish was to see his brother one last time, but maybe it was just too much to ask for. TEMPORARY Deathfic. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: **AU. 5x03/5x04. His dying wish was to see his brother one last time. But maybe it was just too much for ask for._

_**WARNINGS**: Temporary deathfic._

* * *

_**Dying Wish**_

(_Beep_. _Beep_. _Beep_. _Beep_. _Beep_.)

_Penetrating trauma to the chest. Pulmonary laceration. Damaged heart. Too late. We did the best we could. Very less time to live._

All those haunting words kept whirling in his mind like a hurricane, repeating like a bullet bouncing back, richochetting off the walls of his head, echoing constantly inside his mind. He couldn't bear the thought of losing any one of the boys, because they were like his own sons. And if you lose one, you lose the other too, right? He doesn't want to believe the words the doctor said, - He wants to believe that there is a way, that the doctor was wrong.

But looking at the kid, looking so pale, so small under the plain hospital sheets, so oddly young and old at the same time, the dark shadows over his sickly-white face told him everything they said were true.

The youngest Winchester isn't going to live for much long. The wound had damaged his heart terribly, courtesy of those damn hunters. He immediately recognized Tim and Reggie from that girl's description, Lisa? Lindsey? Whatever her name was. If he wasn't in this damn wheel chair, he would've punched those assholes' faces in.

He felt a pang of guilt churn his gut. If he didn't send those hunters to Sam, maybe none of this would've happened.

The twitch in the Winchester's hand pulls him out of his reverie and he feels a small smile stretch across his lips. He takes hold of his weak hand, squeezing his baby soft skin lightly. "That's it, kid. Open up your eyes." He encourages softly.

Sam weakly rolls his head towards the voice and scrunched up his eyebrows, his eyes still closed. He half-whispers, half-mumbles out his brother's name, his heavy eye-lids still protesting at being lifted. "D'n?"

"No, it's Bobby." He corrects gently and gives his hand another gentle squeeze.

"B'bby?" Sam whispers feebly. "Wh'r's D'n?" He mumbles indistinctly and it takes Bobby a few seconds to understand what he was saying.

Damn, he really forgot to call that idgit brother of his, and he knows for sure, Dean's gonna murder him for being even _this_ late.

Sam's eyes struggle to open, and after a few hard tries, he manages to flutter them open successfully, but only half-way, revealing his hazel eyes through half-mast eyes. He hears beeping machines, he smells antiseptic, and he sees white walls and ceilings as he looks around, and he immediately knows that he's in a hospital. His whole body feels weak and aches, considering the beating he got from those hunters, but it was the pain in his heart that hurt worse than all the others, and plus, he also feels like he's dying. He turns his head to Bobby and squints through the blur still clouding his vision.

"Hey kid." Bobby greets softly. "Welcome back." He knows he isn't going to ask if he's okay, because that's a really stupid question for someone who's about to die in under a week. He feels his heart wrench violently when he sees a weak smile thrown his way, reminding him that he's never going to see that bright, dimpled smile ever again.

And he watches as that smile starts to fade slowly when he starts telling him about what the doctors said.

.

Bobby sighs softly as he wheels out of the room with his phone in his hand. He presses speed dial number one and puts the phone to his ear. The thought of the youngest Winchester dying was overwhelming enough for him, and he just can't imagine how Dean would feel.

The other line picks up after a few rings. "_Hey Bobby._" Dean greets him.

Bobby stays silent for a while, contemplating whether or not he should tell him.

_He deserves to know_. A small voice in the back of his mind says. It was his own.

"_Bobby_?_ You okay_?" Dean asks worriedly on the other line.

Bobby bites his lip and sighs. "It's Sam, Dean." He answers softly. "You need to get here as soon as ya can."

"_What_ - _what happened_?" He asks on the other line quietly, concern evident in his voice.

"We're in a hospital." Bobby looks at Sam's room. "He's askin' for ya. I'll tell you everything once ya get here."

Silence ensued on the other line, an internal battle that Bobby can sense and he knows Dean isn't going to say no to this.

But what he hears next shocks him to the core. Anger burning inside him like fire and at the same time, he was appalled by Dean's cold words and behaviour.

"_Well_, _tell him I can't come_, _I'm sorry_." He answers, his tone changing to hard and icy with coldness.

"Dean - _what_?" He whispers, appalled.

"_I can't come running to him every time he gets hurt_, _Bobby_. _He's a grown up now and he doesn't need me anymore_. _His actions' of the past year had shown that_._ This whole separation thing_?_ It was his idea_, _and he can't take that back like it never happened_. _I'm sorry Bobby_, _but not this time_. _You're there anyway_, _you take care of him_." He says.

"He does need you dammit! That's why he's asking for you! That's why he wants to see you!" Bobby yells into the phone desperately.

"..._I'm sorry Bobby_." Dean says, sticking to his answer stubbornly.

"Don't do this Dean. He's - " _about to die and you won't ever see him again_.

But he doesn't get the chance to say the rest when the other line starts beeping. He pulls the phone off of his ear, shocked.

.

Bobby wheels inside Sam's room, who was staring at him with such intense hope glowing in his eyes and he just knows he doesn't have it in him to shatter it. He bites his lips.

"'S he c'ming?" Sam whispers weakly.

Bobby stares quietly at him and tries to swallow down the lie, but seeing him look so hopeful, and he knows the truth is gonna break him into pieces.

So he forces the answer out, wrenches the lie from his body and says it out loud.

"Yeah kid. _He's comin'_."

Something inside him breaks when he sees the utter relief and happiness on his face.

* * *

_Okay, I know, I know. You guys hate me for making Dean like that, hell, I hate me, but trust me, he doesn't really know that Sam's gonna die, or else he would've dropped everything and ran to the hospital and he would've racked his brains trying to find a way to save Sam. :D And for any mistakes there, as you all might know if you have read my first fanfic that English is NOT my language and this is my second fanfic here. :) Review please, constructive criticism is welcome but I'll admit, I do bruise a little easily so...point them out in a kind manner, please? LOL. And I don't know much about all the medical-mumbo-jumbo stuff so excuse my nonsense._


	2. Chapter 2

_Dying Wish_

A small and weak smile graces his lips, lifts the corners of his mouth slightly as he feels a kind of serenity wash over him. It rises something inside his chest, something he hasn't felt for so long; happiness.

He forgot what it felt like, to feel his heart swell with hope and joy, to feel butterflies in his stomach from all the excitement, to feel like a kid who can't wait to see his big brother after school, and it's funny how something like meeting his brother again after only weeks of separation and in his last moments is what brings all that back.

He turns his head towards Bobby, only to find a face darkened with sorrow and distraught, and eyes full of guilt and remorse. His eyebrows furrow in puzzlement at the overwhelming emotions, and he feebly reaches out a hand that feels too heavy and seems to eat away all his remaining strength, and rests it on his shoulder. He doesn't squeeze though, too drained to do the gesture.

Bobby startles slightly at the sudden weight on his shoulder, and he looks over at the kid. A question shining in his concerned eyes that he doesn't seem to have enough energy to voice out, one he always asks whenever he sees someone he loves in distress.

_You okay_?

Bobby tries to smile, he really does, but it hurts to do so because of everything happening around him and the fact that his surrogate youngest is about to die in _under a freaking week_. The smile feels clearly fake on his lips, it doesn't even reach his eyes, but Sam doesn't notice it.

And it also seems the fatigue is starting to catch up to him as the small slit of his hazel eyes finally close together and his breathing evens out, right after the old hunter gives him a small, reassuring smile and runs a hand through the kid's soft, chocolate-brown hair.

"I'm so sorry, kid." He whispers softly to the oblivious young boy, and that's exactly what he looks like right now as he snores softly, save for the paleness of his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes that look a bit more prominent than before.

**.**

Bobby tries to call Dean again. He tries his number three times, none of them picked up by him, and he's one unanswered call away from losing his patience and temper.

He presses speed-dial one again, and something inside him erupts like a volcano when the same result comes.

"_Hey, it's Dean, leave me a -_ "

He switches the phone off angrily and slams his fist against the wall beside him, panting heavily as his fingers tighten around his phone, his knuckles throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat. His blood boils, and he swears he's never been more furious in his whole lifetime as much as he is now.

**.**

He wheels inside the room after he has collected himself and moves towards the kid, whose whole body - that once used to be so tense all the time - seems so relaxed at this moment, and his face is calm and at absolute peace when it used to be the other way around, always either stressed and anxious with worried lines, or depressed and guilty.

And as he stares at the innocent face lying on the hospital bed, it occurs to him that about a week later only, this kid might never open his eyes once he falls to sleep.

The realization hits him hard, it leaves his chest aching with grief and pending loss, and the corners of his eyes wet with tears, but he quickly brushes them off.

He feels as if he failed this kid somehow, as if he betrayed him by lying to him (_maybe that's exactly what he did_), maybe he should have told him the truth.

But then he imagines the pained, shattered look on his face, and he remembers why he did it.

He still doesn't know what to do.

**.**

Sam wakes up the next morning, somewhere around ten'o'clock. He feels a bit better than last night, he's still really tired and weak, but more alive, except the pain in his damaged heart didn't abate in the least, and if he didn't know any better, it probably got even worse, so he just tries his best to ignore it. And the first thing he does is search around the room expectantly, and when he doesn't find what he's looking for, he looks at Bobby.

"Where's Dean?" He asks weakly, his voice nothing above a hoarse whisper.

Bobby stills completely, his hand frozen half-way through the motion of flipping a page of the magazine on his lap.

Sam stares at Bobby with wide, hopeful eyes.

Bobby smiles nervously as he moves towards the side-table and fills a cup with water, lifting the young hunter's head with one hand and helping him drink it with the other.

Once they're done, Sam drops his head back on the pillow and Bobby instantly tries to change the topic. "Good morning, kid. How you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to die in a week." Sam jokes lightly, his voice now sounding more clearer, but still feeble.

"That ain't funny." Bobby answers solemnly as he puts the cup of glass back on the table.

Sam sighs softly. "Yeah, I know." He looks down at his hands. "Sorry."

Bobby nods and looks at him with a raised eyebrow expectantly.

"Well, my heart hurts like hell, heartbeat feels a bit slow or something, still feeling drained and weak."

"Alright." Bobby sighs, and then adds, "You need a doctor?"

"No, not really. I can handle it." Sam answers, earning an exasperated sigh from Bobby as he knows he's probably preferring to tough it out rather than admit that he wants help.

A comfortable silence fills the whole room for a few, short minutes, until Sam breaks it.

"So, where _is_ Dean? I thought he was supposed to be here by now."

Bobby swallows, staring holes into the floor as he tries to come up with a compatible lie. "He . . . got some important things to take care of, so he won't be here for at least a few days."

Sam looks convinced, hence the sad puppy-eyes. "Oh."

Bobby rushes to add, so as to not make the kid upset, "It'll only take about two or three days." Another lie, and it twists his gut in shame. He just keeps piling lies upon lies on Sam, along with adding guilt upon guilt on himself, and it hurts to do this, especially when he's lying to the kid in his last days.

But he knows the truth isn't an option either. It'll only hurt for longer if he does.

The easy quietness is now feeling suffocating and eerie to Bobby.

But he would've taken it any day over the next question Sam asks.

"Do . . ." He stops, sighing softly before he continues his next words, the tone of his voice only a sad whisper. "Do you think he'll make it before - " He trails off, swallowing shakily before he looks down again.

". . . Yeah. Of - of course he'll make it." He chokes out.

And another lie.

* * *

_OMG! Six months? I'm so sorry! I know you won't believe me when I'll say that I completely forgot about this, I did remember sometimes in between, but then I'd forget about it again. I do have the memory of a goldfish, as my brother says._

_I apologize sincerely for the very, very late update, also for any grammatical or punctual errors, or about my medical knowledge. I'm just a kid! :( I don't know jack about all the medical mumbo-jumbo._

_Also, thanks for all the great reviews and the number of alerts as well as favorites. I feel very heartened and thrilled with your support. I guess this is gonna turn out to be much longer than a two-shot._


	3. Chapter 3

_-Dying Wish; Chapter Three_

Three more days have passed.

Three more long, painful days of Sam's continuous questioning about Dean's whereabouts and his '_important work_', and receiving only lies as the answers.

Three lugubrious days filled with compunction, melancholy and agony for Bobby.

He stayed with his surrogate youngest throughout the day and night, never once abandoning his side for a second except when it was necessary. He watched Sam get worse over time; watched as he became weaker and weaker with each day to the point where he could barely even sit up anymore; could barely talk much without losing too much of his strength.

Could barely breathe.

And _God_, it hurt so bad, hearing him struggle to breathe so hard, even with that damn oxygen mask covering his mouth; and the constant fear of them stopping any second made a home in the pit of his stomach, weighing down his heart every living minute.

"Don'...don' think m'gon'a...gonn' las' long, Bobby." His whispers were more feeble than before, and so were his smiles, barely even showing a glimpse of his deep dimples. His voice was always strained, always so soft and light that sometimes Bobby would have to lean in to understand what he was saying.

And that also hurt.

It was such a huge emphasis on what's about to happen, what's getting closer to them with every minute that passed. Bobby feared that dreadful day, hoped, wished, _prayed_, that maybe somehow it wouldn't come, maybe he wouldn't have to see it, or at least it wouldn't be as close as it felt. He prayed for a few more days to spend time with him, to get through to Dean's cellphone and call him here and fulfill his youngest's dying wish.

But that wasn't gonna happen any time soon.

Because fate was cruel, especially if your last name was Winchester, or if you had any relationships with them.

"You just hold on, son. Just keep holding on."

**.**

Dean sits on the edge of his bed, clutching tightly at the sheets with his knuckles and fingers whitened because of it. He swallows hard as he glances over at his phone, which he had turned into silent mode days ago. Missed calls came from Bobby, reaching almost a fifty in the past four days.

He can't.

He just _can't_.

He can't talk to his brother, see him so soon, forgive him so easily. He wants to be furious with him for longer, he wants him to be hurt with his actions, the same way Dean was when he chose Ruby over him, wrapped his very own hands around his big brother's throat and _choked_ him, and then left him all alone in that motel room, battered and bruised.

And that's why he'll keep resisting, keep fighting against the urge to answer the phone, to get in the car and drive all the way to his little brother.

He knows how selfish he was being, how ridiculous, childish even; and also a bit hypocritical, because after all, he was the one who taught his brother that no matter how bad your mistakes were, family always forgave you.

But for this once, just this once; he couldn't bring himself to care.

He just can't understand why Bobby wasn't letting this go.

**.**

"D-De'n 'ere 'et?" He whispers hopefully another evening, his eyes open in mere slits.

Bobby shakes his head, feeling a clenching sensation in his gut at the disappointed look on his face that he has already seen a thousand times these past few days, but still unable to get used to it. He had tried, God knows he had tried so much, but Dean still wasn't picking up his damn phone.

He still won't give up though.

Bobby may not be a Winchester, but if there was one thing he was good at doing; it was being as stubborn as a titanium wall. It was persevering.

"'How lon'?" He breathes out softly, his chest rising high, before falling low again; and the cycle continues. A stream of hard, gasping coughs wrack his body and suddenly penetrate through the short, hesitant silence.

"Not sure, kid." Bobby replies after Sam's head flops back onto the pillow, his voice numb and impassive even as the guilt gripped his stomach painfully.

Sam just nods wearily and sighs lowly, coughing slightly again. He lets his eyes drop shut; and for a minute, Bobby thought he fell asleep. But then he opens his eyes again, albeit half-mast, but still open none the less.

"Talk t'me." He exhales out, his breaths heavy and his voice a light whisper as he rolls his head towards him weakly, staring quietly at him with all the attention of a little kid about to listen to his favorite story again at night.

"Okay, uh . . . " He stops and falls silent, thinking on what he could tell him.

_How about the truth?_ An irritable voice suggested in his head. It was his own again.

"Do you remember the first day your Papa left ya at my house?"

Sam, not wanting to spend any more of his energy on talking, simply shook his head slightly.

"Ah, of course ya wouldn't. You were only three, and your brother; almost seven. That boy was so protective of ya, and I remember that clearly. It actually kinda scared me, ya know." He admits and chuckles softly. "You somehow managed to crawl up on my chair and mess up some hunting research papers of mine with your crayons." He smiled with fond awe as the memories flooded his mind, a far-away look in his eyes as he told the story. "I got mad and scolded you for it, and you started crying."

_"Damn it." Bobby muttered softly to himself, massaging his aching temples as he stared at the weeping toddler. He strode forward hastily as if in panic, folding his legs and kneeling in front of him. "I'm sorry, Sam."_

_The lightly voiced apology had no effect on him whatsoever as the infant continued to cry, his face flushed red and a wet mess of tears. "I'm sorry, kid." He tried again, and still no improvement._

_"Sammy!" He heard a high-pitched and childish voice yell worriedly, and he looked behind him and towards the doorway to where Dean was standing. He watched as the young boy started running towards his baby brother, and when he reached there; he placed his hands under his sibling's armpits and picked him off the chair._

_And with a hard, angry glare sent towards him along with the fiery protectiveness burning in his eyes for his brother, he exited the library room._

"He somehow managed ta' calm ya down later, and then came to me. He talked to me, lectured me. The kid even threatened me." He laughs softly at those past, cherished moments, shaking his head. "And you . . . you wouldn't even look at me. You'd just hide behind your big brother's leg whenever ya saw me. So in the end, I had to ask Dean what I had to do to make you like me. Said you liked chocolate chip cookies. So . . . " He stops when he risks a brief glance down at the young man, only to find him with his eyes closed, his breaths heavy and even as he snored softly.

He sighs softly, reaching up his fingers and brushing the bangs off his forehead, a small smile gracing his lips at the innocence.

The smile slowly slips away as he gazes quietly at his sickly-white face. "You just keep holding on, alright kid?" He murmured gently the same words he did just this morning, his voice laced with sorrow and grief.

* * *

_Greetings to my lovely readers!_

_Okay, okay, I know what you guys are thinking. 'That's what you say after you keep us on waiting for three months?! You shameless person!'. Well, at least it wasn't six months, yeah? *nervous laugh* I swear I tried to get this chappie up but then life and my writer's block (seriously, I got stuck half-way through writing and every time I tried to continue it, all I could do was stare at my screen like an idiot!) got in the way and I had to set my priorities straight. I had 600 words written down that was just lying around . . ._

_And then one day I flew up into the sky on my little brother's toy aeroplane and met unicorns and they told me that if I didn't write the next chapter in a few days I'll die by a huge swarm of very unhappy readers? Yay?_

_Feed the writing monster with your reviews and it'll poop out the next chapter very soon (hopefully). Thank you for reading and reviewing, and also for all the amazing reviews and the amount of tags it got! I don't know what to say! This is only my second story and I'm already having a ton of support by you guys! You're awesome._

_No haters allowed. Constructive criticism is welcome though!_


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